Cat's in the Cradle
by Herringway
Summary: Drabble based on a dialogue-less strip about Calvin's Dad deciding what's more important in his life.


Calvin and Hobbes - Cat's in the Cradle

It's another beautiful winter day in January, and what am I doing? I'm sitting at my desk, doing paperwork. A patent lawyer's job is never done. Or at least, it feels that way sometimes. I have a beautiful wife, and, despite what you might think if you were to spend an afternoon in our house, I have a kid that I love to pieces, but some days it feels like I'm married to my job. I suppose that's normal when you get to be my age, I guess. Responsibility and all that.

The work isn't hard, it's just tedious, and there's a lot of it. It's to be done for the end of the week, which is in two days. I suppose it could easily done within the next day, but I'm just not feeling it, if you understand my meaning. I gaze out the window for a second, and note that the weather outside is still. I smile fondly, thinking back to my own childhood and how much fun I'd be having outside on a day like today: Snowball fights with my friends, skating on the pond, building snowmen and the like...

Just barely out of earshot, I can hear Calvin bounding excitedly in the living room. I guess he must've noticed the weather outside, too. I chuckle. For all the trouble he is, Calvin's a good kid. Most of the time. Sometimes.

...

Okay, he's a handful. But he's my son (or so the wife constantly reminds me), and I love him. Every parent loves their child, no matter what we say in the heat of the moment. With kids, those moments tend to happen frequently, and Calvin is no exception. I suppose everyone is like that when they're six, however. Calvin, though, he's... special, let's call him that. That kid is so smart; too smart for his own good, I think. Both Catherine (the missus) and I wish that he'd apply himself in school as much as he did in those seemingly meaningless tasks, like coming up with rules for Calvinball or drawing far-off planets (some of which are greatly detailed; perhaps he'll be a set designer for Star Trek or something, provided the series goes on). He's intelligent, and creative, however, he has the attention span of a goldfish. But again, he's my son, and I love him dearly.

I turn my attention back to the stack of papers on the table and sigh as I pore over the legal mumbo-jumbo, when Calvin bursts into the room. He sure is excited about something, and I think this is one of the few times he's not giving me his speech about my numbers in the 'parent polls' or whatever being in the red. ...In fact, this is one of the few times he's excited to speak to me, son to father. I give him a half-smile and listen to what he has to say.

"Dad! Dad! It's a snowfall outside!" I can't help but smile at his exuberant statement of the obvious.

"I noticed. Why don't you go out and play?"

"That's it, dad, it's the perfect consistency for packing together and making snowmen! Come on out and let's create a monument to the Snow Demons!" Again with the snow demons. This must be the third winter he's brought them up, and I'm not sure whether or not this creation of his is indicative of what his beliefs are. Then again, he _is_ six years old with a heck of an imagination.

While the suggestion to go outside is tempting... "Calvin, I've got all this important work that needs to be done." He quiets down and nods understandingly, despite being obviously disappointed. "Sorry kiddo. Maybe later, okay?"

"Yeah... sure..." And then he's out of the room and I hear the front door open and close moments later, and then suddenly, the guilt settles in. I sigh and attempt to resume working.

The key word here is 'attempt'. I look down at the papers, then back up. Down, and up. Down and up. I need... I need a light distraction, so I turn on a radio. It's a classic rock station. I can dig it. For the next ten minutes or so, I can work smoothly again, until I realize a familiar song's on the radio.

"..._My son turned ten just the other day  
>He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play,<br>can you teach me to throw?", I said "Not today,  
>I got a lot to do", he said, "That's ok<br>And he walked away but his smile never dimmed  
>And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah<br>You know I'm gonna be like him."_

_And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,  
>Little boy blue and the man on the moon.<br>When you comin' home, Dad?  
>I don't know when, but we'll get together then.<br>You know we'll have a good time then..."_

It hits a little to close to home and I turn the radio off, and lean back in my chair to see what Calvin's up to. He's in the yard, rolling up a large snowball for the base of what I can assume with me a snowman. Or whatever macabre mess he'll make this week. The poor kid actually looks disheartened, which makes me feel a little guilty. The last time I saw Calvin looking this depressed was when he broke my binoculars a few months ago.

This revelation gives me a sudden realization: Calvin was excited to do a little Father-Son bonding, something I usually push during summer time when we go camping. And I turned it down. In favor of what? Work? In an instant, I'm disgusted with myself. I glare down at the paper on the table and actually curse out loud, in the privacy of the empty dining room.

"What in the blue fuck am I doing here?" I force myself up from the table and quickly locate my snow pants, a winter jacket, a hat (or as my brother Max up in Canada calls it, a 'toque') and some gloves, throw on my boots, and head on outside. "Calvin!"

It takes him a moment for him to realize that I've come outside to play. "Dad!" I laugh and pick him up and give him a hug. "I thought you said-"

"It's the first snowfall of the year, I'd be crazy not to enjoy it with you." He smiles from ear to ear as I set him down. "So, you wanna build a snowman?" He nods excitedly and we set right to work. Sometimes I make a joke or two about adding an extra limb, in keeping with Calvin's... unique style of Snowman-Building, but he settles on just building a normal one. Sometimes we stop in the middle of building it because one of us thought it'd be funny to pelt the other one with a snowball.

It doesn't take too long before dark starts to fall, and it's about time that we should head inside. Calvin's looking a little cold, too. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get some cocoa and you in a hot bath. It's almost bedtime for you anyway." He smiles and nods, though I can tell that he'd much rather be still playing despite the temperature. The wife seems to be one step ahead of me, since she gestures up the stairs once Calvin gets his boots off. I give her a hug and return to the table, and try to remember where I left off, sipping on a steaming mug of cocoa that seems to have magically appeared next to my spot at the table.

She leans against the entryway to the dining room with a smirk, arms folded across her chest. "You realize that you probably made his entire day, right?"

"That's what I'm here for." I can't help being a little smug. She comes in and gives me a kiss on the forehead, and goes about her business while I get to work.

Surprisingly, Calvin takes his bath with little fuss, and I hear him coming down the stairs, his mother in tow. "Dad? ...Thanks for playing today."

"Well, playing with your kids builds character." The wife rolls her eyes and Calvin lets out a groan, but shakes his head. "I'll be up to read you a story in a minute, I just-"

"Nah, it's fine." I have to set my pen down and place a hand on his forehead. "I'm serious! I'm really, really tired and I..." He's cut off by his own yawning. "I know you've got work to do. We had a good time today, didn't we?"

"You know we did, son."

The smile hasn't left his face. "... Good night, dad." And with that, my wife lifts Calvin up, who gives me a kiss goodnight, before she brings him up to his room. I resume working.


End file.
